Neve na grade. Foto: Laila Guedes

I froze like snow falling on the mountains: gradually and suddenly,
quickly and violently.
It was like this,
from one moment to the next,
made suffering without
any foreshadowing.

There’re on me
an allusion of conflict,
painful moments,
lonely tears,
drunken confidences.

There’re also
moments of adjustment and mismatch,
of deception and disillusionment,
moments that are mine,
only mine, of no one else.
I can’t pretend not to feel, I feel,
and I must feel beyond seeing the canyon.

There’re times when this avalanche comes with such devastating force
that I am buried in the harrowing gloomy storm.
Hence my instability of wanting
and not wanting,
to always seek what is new.

Because strangely it’s so feverish
as to melt everything that shatters me
in the boredom of clinging to the sameness of habits.

At times I have the impression
that I disappear into this whitish jungle. And in my vast silent dimension
I contemplate the glow of realizing
the unspeakable of me.
This place where I surrender to the infinite instant of my own existence.

My heart sweetly mumbles
the lack of warmth of emotions,
awaiting the moment of rest
in the arms of the sky,
and a breath comes
to remove the snow from my hair.
I smell high winds
and the satiny taste of the clouds.